Glen Ellyn is still asleep, and the firefighters are getting down to work.

There is no punch clock. No overtime pay for coming in on a Sunday. Only the job at hand.

This morning, like any Sunday morning throughout the year, members of the Glen Ellyn Volunteer Fire Co. are training the new recruits. They are laying the foundation for the next generation of volunteers, who will carry on the mantle of a century-old tradition.

For 12 to 16 months, the new volunteers will learn every aspect of the job. There is no specialization in the fire company.

When an alarms sounds — and the pagers of volunteers light up across the village — the first ones to the station make up the response team. They head out as soon as they have enough firefighters, with the very first person to show usually driving the truck.

You can never know who exactly is going to respond on any given alarm, said Kirk Huot, an eight-year volunteer working with the trainees on a recent Sunday morning. But be sure: When the call goes out, more than enough firefighters answer.

“We’ve got guys who are still out here doing it for 40 years,” Huot said. “Even after all those years, they’re showing up for every call.”

March 23, 1908 — The company’s first recorded alarm: A prairie fire caused by an out-of-control rubbish burn. It does not spread to a nearby house, and the company’s new hose cart is not put to use.

The fire company was formed out of necessity in 1907, a year after lightning destroyed the Glen Ellyn Hotel. Twenty men enrolled the first day.

Now, 65 men and women make up the company. All live within a mile of the fire district, which extends slightly beyond the village’s borders. There is high demand for a spot on the roster.

“We’ve always had people calling and writing letters asking, ‘Can I join?’” said Second Assistant Chief Jeff Buccola, the son of a fireman who knew he would do the same when he turned 21.

Recruit Chris Guare is nearing the end of his training. He grew up on the south side of Glen Ellyn, and service runs in his family. His father is a DuPage County sheriff’s deputy, and his brother is a Marine stationed overseas.

“My mom doesn’t do so well at night,” he said. “We’re doing stuff that, as a mom, she’s saying, ‘Oh, my gosh.’”

Jan. 30, 1959 — Tragedy. A fire at Glen Acres Nursing Home kills eight patients, and Assistant Chief Donald Stoffregen, 52, has a heart attack on the scene — the company’s only death in the line of duty.

If Sunday morning is for new recruits, Monday evening is for the veterans.

Each week, the company holds a training session, and volunteers must attend at least one Monday practice every month. They run drills, prepare for different responses and generally stay sharp.

“Safety first makes you last,” Huot said. “That’s kind of our tagline.”

The company responds to more than just fires. Firefighters go out for car accidents, smoke alarms, carbon monoxide detectors — any emergency at any time.

Calls can go out before breakfast, in the middle of the night or during a child’s T-ball game.

“That pager is always on you,” Huot said. “People would be surprised to know how often we go out at night.

“A lot of times it feels like every night.”

Jan. 8, 1970 — Crews respond to a fatal explosion on a day so cold that one firefighter experiences frostbite.

The volunteers balance their commitment against the rest of their lives. At times, the demands of family and full-time jobs call for a sabbatical.

But once they can return to the company, many do.

“I’ve been around long enough to see people come and go with what’s going on in their life,” said Capt. Bill Miller, who joined 27 years ago.

The volunteers do not earn a paycheck for their work, but you do not hear griping. They are instead rewarded with camaraderie. And with pride.

“People just enjoy going down there,” said Buccola, who is a West Chicago firefighter for his paying job. “They’re doing it for free. You got to love going down there if you’re not getting paid.”

On any given call last year, the average response was about 14 company members.  Major alarms can muster 40 to 50 firefighters.

“We always get more than we need,” Huot said.

Feb. 28, 1991 — A house fire on Abbey Drive separates a mother from her toddler. A village police officer and a firefighter, the first ones on the scene, rescue the child.

“I think the initial interest is the excitement, mostly the excitement — you’re being a fireman,” Buccola said.

“What keeps them around is the satisfaction you get when you’re doing good things for your community.”